


Thunder Before the Lightning

by Dirthera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Also the narrative treats them as negative things, Angst, Destructive relationships (past), Enemies to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, Post-Blackwatch, Pre-Canon, Shambali Monastery, more like dysfunctional lovers to enemies to friends to lovers, no glorification of destructive relationships here cause that shit is yikes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthera/pseuds/Dirthera
Summary: Two weeks after the disbandment of Blackwatch, Jesse McCree is alone, hurting, and angry. With everyone he knew now dead, or simply not deserving of a broken down mess of a man on their doorstep (or worse, having left him without warning, without ceremony, without the utterance of a single goodbye), he travels aimlessly. That is, until information of Genji's whereabouts finally reaches him.Closure sounds like a good thing in theory. Reality can be so much more painful.





	1. Chapter 1

Outside a café on the outskirts of a small desert town, a phone rang, buzzing in the pocket of the only customer.

A sigh, then the man the phone belonged to kicked at the ground, sending a small flurry of sand into the windy air.

Jesse McCree knew he should pick up. He knew, logically, objectively, there were some people who might be wondering where he was, worried about him ( _I can take care of my damn self_ a voice inside him growled), trying to contact him.

But knowing it logically and feeling it were two different things.

He had lost everything.

For two years, he had been missing the best and worst thing in his life. And then, barely two weeks ago, he’d had to leave the organization he had dedicated his life to. The organization that had torn him from the path to destruction. The man who had taken him in.

 _Fucking politics_.

The sand kept whipping up around him, and the phone kept ringing.

McCree quickly went through the list of people who might be calling. The list had gotten considerably shorter in the last few weeks. He’d seen the news. He knew Gabe wouldn’t be calling him again. He knew few would. He knew there was nowhere to go home to anymore.

Most he knew were dead or missing, or had left him long ago.

That left one person.

McCree sighed and picked up the phone.

“Jesse,” the voice on the other end said, sounding relieved.

“Fareeha,” he replied, feeling some of the tension bleeding out of his body at just the sound of her voice. The closest thing he had to family, and he hadn’t even told her he was alive. A wave of guilt washed over him, just before she spoke again.

“You could have told me you were alive, saved me a lot of trouble,” she said, light hearted teasing a mask for the worry in her voice, only recognizable for someone who had known her for a long time. And McCree had known her a long time.

“Fareeha…” he breathed out a heavy sigh and cast his eyes downward. “Sorry, kid.”

The line was silent for a moment, and then Fareeha burst out with three short words that made McCree’s whole body stiffen. “I found him.”

A few moments passed as McCree tried to get a grip on his breathing and his rage. Did he even want to find him? Did he even want to follow whatever trail Fareeha had picked up? Or should he leave the past where it belonged, let their destructive forces stay far away from each other, let their separate wounds fester in peace?

“How?” he finally choked out, and let his choked up feelings war in the background as he listened to Fareeha explain.

“Apparently he’s still in contact with the doctor who saved his life, made him what he is. And I’m friends with her.”

McCree could hear… something in Fareeha’s voice as she talked about the doctor. He grinned, then brought the unlit cigar resting next to him up to his lip and chewed on it absentmindedly.

“Friends?” he asked, smug grin in his voice, and he could practically hear Fareeha blush.

“Shut up, old man,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“Okay, okay,” he replied, smile in his voice.

The smile disappeared as Fareeha led them back to the original topic.

“So. Do you want to know where he is?” she asked, and McCree closed his eyes, grin falling off his face. “You weren’t exactly…” she trailed off, then picked up again from a different angle. “You’ve been wondering where he was for the last two years. This could be closure.”

McCree knew she was right. He needed to know why he’d just up and left. Why he’d left him alone for two years, without a message, without a sign of life, without anything to suggest why he left, why he left him.

But he was still angry, that cold, deep anger that McCree had felt so many times when they were together, working in the same place, being whatever they were. He wanted to see him again, if only to get that justification, to push all that cold anger down his throat, to hurt and be hurt one last time, close the wound, open another, leave and be left.

McCree grunted, exasperated, pulled the cigar from between his teeth, and spat at the ground between his boots.

“Give me the location.”

He knew his voice was harsh, was hard and cold, and Fareeha didn’t deserve that. But he couldn’t feel any other way, stuck in the situation he was stuck in. He just had to live in it, bask in it, let Fareeha think what she thought, and he would make good with her again later. They were family. He would have that chance.

She gave him the info she had collected, and McCree said a gruff goodbye and hung up.

This could change everything, he thought, slumped in the small café chair. He downed the rest of his coffee, black, no sugar, and stared down into the cup, as though the answers were to be found there.

Going after him was a bad idea, McCree knew that. But did he have a choice? Did he have anywhere else to go? Anything else to do?

Overwatch was gone. The Deadlock gang was at best prepared to shoot him on sight, at worst actively hunting him. His mentor was dead.

This was the only unknown. The only mystery left worth solving.

He had just about made up his mind when a friendly voice shook him out of his thoughts.

“Can I top you up?”

Above him was a middle aged woman with ginger hair, smiling pleasantly, coffee can in hand, looking at him expectantly.

After a moment, he smiled back, forcing pleasantness into his voice, his posture, his expression. “Thank you kindly,” he smiled up at her, and she smiled back, the warmth of her expression a stark contrast to the cold of the anger hiding just below McCree’s surface. “And I’ll take the check now, if you don’t mind.” She nodded, refilled his coffee cup, and disappeared into the café again.

McCree stared down at his boots for a moment. Well worn, on the brink of breaking down. Holes were gonna appear in them any day now. He should get himself some new ones soon.

He sighed, then began packing his things together into a worn, brown leather rucksack. His cigar, unlit. His newspaper, well read, from the day after the public demise of Overwatch. His wallet, minus a few bills and coins to pay the waitress (generous tip included).

A minute later, the check was on the table, the coins were on top of it, and McCree was on his feet. After a moment to orient himself, he began the walk toward the part of town where he was most likely to find some form of transit, already planning how he would begin making his way onward from there.

The decision was made, and so he had a long journey in front of him. And he had no illusions about the fact that at the end he would find nothing but misery.

Still, he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all this is my first ow thing I hope it turned out okay but anyway comments make my soul ascend into clouds so if you have any notes or comments just drop them below and I'll probably remember it and smile forever thank u! Anyway I'm hoping to update this around once a week? I've already got the first three chapters written (I hope y'all like pain) and I'm hoping to work on it pretty regularly. Anyway! Thanks for reading and have a great day!


	2. Chapter 2

McCree had found a village conveniently near the monastery, and it hadn’t taken much to borrow a surprisingly resilient mare from the locals. It had only taken barely half of an hour of riding for the monastery gates to come into view, and now they were approaching, nearer and nearer, until he was under them, then through, then out in a bustling stone courtyard surrounded by buildings.

McCree tied the horse to a fence post on one side of the courtyard, making sure she was sat in the shade, and began making his way in a random direction. He did his best to blend in, not wanting to look too out of place (though he supposed it couldn’t be helped whatever he did).

So this was where Genji had gone. An omnic monastery in the Himalayas. Not just _an_ omnic monastery, but _the_ monastery. The Shambali monastery. McCree hadn’t figured him for the spiritual type, at least not the angry, volatile, vengeful man he had known years ago.

He supposed it was pretty, though. If he were going to leave everyone he knew, especially the man he had… relations with, with no warning at all, this was where he’d go, too.

Well, probably not. McCree would probably seek out the desert, some train cars going across America, or some other isolated place where no one knew his face or his name.

But would he even do something like that?

Instead of answering the awful question hurled at him by his mind, wallowing in his resentment, McCree opted to put all his focus towards where he was going.

He had reached the corner of the courtyard, which seemed to be the day to day epicenter of the monastery. Or maybe there were just that many monks here. Either way, the place was bustling with people. Shiny, chrome monks dressed in simple garments woven of what looked like coarse fabrics. Some were talking, some were traveling on their own, looking lost in thought. Some were walking, like humans did, with their feet planted firmly on the ground, while others were floating in a lotus position, moving forward by means unbeknownst to him.

All along the sides of the courtyard were buildings, and between them, paths. Everything looked coarse and rustic, beautiful in its simplicity.

Honestly, McCree had no idea where to begin.

Just as the thought passed through his head, a calm hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to see the metal face of one of the monks.

“You appear lost,” the monk said, a twinkle in his eye, if that was even possible, a calm smile in his voice. “Is there something you are searching for?”

Finally, something going his way for once, McCree thought. A helping hand wasn’t something he was about to turn down in this foreign environment.

“I am, in fact,” McCree replied, polite smile on his face. “Have you seen a cyborg man, about yea tall,” he held his hand up at about Genji’s height, “angry most of the time?”

The monk gave a small chuckle, knowing and slightly amused, as though he had heard a joke only he understood. Then he nodded.

“You must be a friend of Genji’s,” the monk said, and McCree made a slight grimace.

Under his breath, a mumbled, “ _Well,_ ” but the monk didn’t comment. Receiving no reply, though perhaps he wasn’t expecting one, the monk turned and began floating away, beckoning for McCree to follow him.

“I will show you to where he is doing his evening meditations.”

McCree began following the floating monk, feeling the late light of the sunset begin painting the courtyard and surrounding area in pinks and oranges, making shadows long and monks scarce. Maybe dinner was starting soon, McCree thought to himself, then quickly realized the monks probably didn’t eat. Meditations, then?

The light reminded him of sunsets back in Deadlock Gorge, when he was younger. Before all of this mess had started. It wasn’t an unpleasant memory in and of itself, but he was loathe to acknowledge the other memories it brought with it, so he pushed them away.

It wasn’t long before they reached the low wall surrounding the monastery, and then exited altogether. They didn’t go far outside the walls, though. There, only a few feet from the stone gates, was an unmistakable figure.

Genji.

McCree took a moment to take him in.

Genji was sitting on the ground, seemingly looking out at the mountains stretching out before them. He didn’t seem to have noticed their arrival, his back still turned, his posture still relaxed.

The thought that Genji wouldn’t be as relaxed once he saw McCree was an unwanted one that he quickly pushed away.

He looked like his old self, more than McCree could really have thought possible after two years of separation. The same black hair, the same frame, chrome and tubes and everything, but an approximation of serenity about him in that moment that McCree had never seen before, never imagined could have been a part of the man he had once known.

In that moment, as if sensing them, Genji stood and turned around.

Even if he had sensed visitors, the sight of McCree was one that seemed to take him completely by surprise. And, as always, the vulnerability of surprise left him compensating with anger, a flash of it covering his face for just a moment before calming again.

“Jesse.” Genji’s voice was calm, though strained.

McCree was almost surprised. He had expected more, more visceral anger, more lashing out, more of an explosion. Instead, he was met with this, a still sort of anger, a flashing of eyes but a calmness of demeanor, the anger he knew transformed from a sparrow angrily pecking to a snake calmly waiting to strike.

He remembered, vividly, painfully, how they interacted all those years ago, so different yet so alike how they seemed to be now. They’d fuck and they’d fight, Genji lashing out, exploding and punishing, angry and quick and deadly, McCree silent, resenting, freezing cold when locking the other man out, a quieter, though no less destructive, sort of anger. Deadly in his own way too, he supposed.

Now it seemed the roles were reversed.

“Genji,” McCree replied and tipped his hat, a small motion, one as natural as breathing. Genji didn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you here.” It was barely a question, and Genji didn’t even really look like he wanted an answer. McCree had always been good at reading the man, but what was still exposed of his face seemed almost to be foreign territory now.

McCree laughed dryly before replying. “That’s it? Why am I here? You’re not wondering how I found you, after you left without a word? After you disappeared off the face of the planet?” He kept his voice light, unchanging, even though it felt as though it was about to break.

Genji’s expression didn’t change, he didn’t move. He just stood there, patiently waiting for an answer, stony cold and locked off.

A few moments of standstill, and then McCree huffed out an angry sigh. “I’m here for answers. Am I going to get them?”

All he got in response was a stare, then a turned back.

“Really?” McCree could feel his composure breaking, his anger seeping through the cracks like molten lava, ready to destroy everything in its path. He didn’t want it to. He really didn’t want it to. But he couldn’t stop it.

“I came all this way, and you can’t even give me an excuse? Not even one lousy excuse?” His voice was steadily rising, angry, angrier than he had been now that he was finally letting himself feel what Genji had done, now that he was finally acknowledging that this wasn’t on him, this had never been on him. He shook his head, a violent, angry action. “You’re more of a coward than I thought.”

All McCree could see before Genji was upon him was a flashing of eyes, a snarled mouth, a scarred face contorted with rage.

Their scuffle was short, but violent. Not like the fights they had had in their Blackwatch days. Those had been milder, both keeping themselves in check, knowing the consequences if they roughed each other up too bad. Both from their superiors and themselves.

No such holds were barred here. This was rage in its purest form, no rules, no stops. Thunder and lightning, colliding in a way they shouldn’t be able to.

The scuffle lasted only a few seconds before a voice came from above them, soft but determined. “Genji.” It was the only word uttered, but in a moment, Genji was standing again, leaving McCree to pick his sorry self off the ground.

McCree wiped a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth, and scowled as he got to his feet.

This measure of control from Genji was more than he’d expected. That new, fragile sort of calm had settled over him again, and McCree could do nothing but resent it.

That Genji could be so okay, so… not balanced, but more so than when they had seen each other last, was a blow McCree could not stomach.

They had been horrible, the both of them. Horrible together, angry and resentful and unbalanced, both in their own ways, both destroying each other.

This new self, this new Genji.

He was leaving McCree behind to drown in his awfulness. He was leaving McCree behind to drown.

“Go find someone else to hurt and abandon,” McCree spat, resentment clear in his voice as he turned on his heel and began walking.

He didn’t turn back until he found his way back to his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo I'm actually keepin on schedule? So again next update in a week, as the cool kids say, this ain't over yet ;)   
> anyway these dudes are pretty messed up sorry this is gonna take a while I guess, but anyone no one can convince me that 1. Genji wasn't majorly self destructive and also destructive before finding peace at the monestary (I don't think anyone's gonna fight me on that though) and 2. McCree wasn't also pretty messed up after. You know. The whole growing up in the Deadlock Gang (they don't give us an exact timeline but seems the majority opinion is that he was a teen there) and being recruited into blackwatch right after, another environment dealing with A Lot of violence.  
> Anyway that's my hot take but also. I live and die for comments, and I'm really thankful for all the kudos so far? Thanks for reading my dudes. See ya in a week!


	3. Chapter 3

McCree had a bottle of booze in one hand and a half chewed up cigar in the other, his back to a stone wall, slumped to the ground on a deserted side street of the tiny village. There wasn’t another soul in sight, everyone probably in bed. As they should be, as he probably should be, seeing as it was pretty much the dead middle of the night.

Above him, only the stars, and below him the solid stone of the ground. Next to him was a bottle in a paper bag.

McCree would have preferred whiskey, but he supposed he’d have to make due. It wasn’t as though this sort of desperation made him picky. This could work. This did work.

Things were already getting softer around the edges. His feelings, his thoughts, they were no longer as sharp, as visceral, as gut wrenching and heart killing.

But it still wasn’t enough, McCree decided as he took another shot off the bottle, feeling it burn all the way down his throat.

Genji was different. Genji was. Something else now. And yet still the same.

He felt another wave of the anger- or was it jealousy- course through him, setting his sedated insides again aflame, a calm, slow burn, controlled but suffocating, nothing like the roaring fires he had seen in Genji, before.

How had he turned into the angry one? How had he become the one full of anger and resentment and all those nasty little friends they had both carried with them? It had been Genji. All that time, it had been Genji who had lashed out, who had felt all those feelings so violently, so viscerally.

And now it was McCree.

Was it selfish to resent the other man for his progress? To resent him for improving, for leaving McCree behind to be a fuck-up on his own?

Weighing it over as he took another drink, McCree found he didn’t really give a damn. Sitting here, out in the warm night in a new town, McCree found he didn’t really care what was good or bad of him to feel. He felt, and fuck everyone who tried to tell him that was wrong.

He sensed out of the corner of his eye movement as another night owl traversed the empty street, making no noise but a faint humming of machinery. An omnic, then.

Such a normal sound for such an abnormal time, abnormal day, this limbo state of mind and life. McCree downed another sip of the harsh liquid.

Based on the soft hum of machinery getting closer and then appearing to stop moving right next to him, it seemed that the omnic had, for some annoying reason, decided to pay attention to the pitiful mess that was McCree. He kept staring into the gray wall in front of him in irritation for a few moments more before looking up and acknowledging the figure hovering over him.

He did a double take when he recognized the omnic.

“Greetings,” the monk said, face still frozen metallic and serene. McCree nodded in return, turning his face away from his company as soon as he could, scowling.

It was the same omnic monk who had shown him to Genji, who had witnessed their altercation. The one who had called Genji off. Someone Genji respected, maybe even a friend of him.

Maybe he was here to tell McCree off for ruining everything again. For wrecking whatever progress Genji had made, maybe. For ruining everything with his presence, as he always did.

It was nothing less than he deserved. The worst was never anything less than he deserved.

He turned his attention back to his paper bag bottle, choosing to rather focus on the small drops of liquid stuck, hovering and shivering, to the inside of the glass neck than the monk and everything he had always ruined.

The omnic moved to a seated position next to McCree, then turned silent, not saying anything to him, not moving, not making a noise, seemingly waiting for something. The silence stretched between them until it was taut as a rubber band, until McCree couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you here?” The question came out almost a growl, breaking the quiet of the night street, overshadowing the insects humming in the air, a sudden, rude interruption. He still didn’t look at the monk.

The voice that sounded from right next to him was calm, serene, without anger, without resentment, without judgement. It almost took McCree by surprise.

“My name is Zenyatta. And you are in need of guidance.”

McCree scowled. As if there was anything the monk could say about this he hadn’t already told himself a million times. “Yeah, I know, I’m unbalanced, I’m a bad influence on others, and I keep hurting people.” He shook his head, angry at himself again. “Trust me. I know.”

“No,” was the simple answer he received, and it took him completely by surprise. When he was silent, rendered speechless, the monk, Zenyatta, continued. “You are in need of guidance, because you are hurting yourself.”

McCree collected himself again, then gave a dry chuckle. “And I deserve it,” he admitted. All the people he had hurt and let down. Fareeha. Gabe. Ana.

Genji.

As if he didn’t deserve the hand he had been dealt. He deserved nothing _but_ the hand he had been dealt.

“Why do you believe you deserve imbalance?” Zenyatta asked, and McCree just shook his head. Like hell he was going to tell this dude about what he had done, just for the man to agree with him.

So he instead opted to shift his focus from the wall across from them to the ground at his feet, black gravel speckled with grey stones, his heavy head inclined downwards, his shoulders hunched.

The warm summer air was quiet between them, only the insects speaking, the rest of the town quiet. McCree didn’t respond. He said nothing, and soon it appeared that Zenyatta got the hint.

The omnic raised himself from his almost seated position on the ground next to McCree and moved to hover in front of him, waiting to speak until McCree raised his head to look him in the eyes.

Voice clear and calm as an undisturbed lake, the omnic addressed him.

“You are lost and in need of guidance, that much is clear. But I do not believe you will find it on your own. Rather, you will keep recycling the negativity within you until it has clouded your entire being, giving you nothing but pain and misery.” The omnic looked at him in silence for a moment, as if to drive the point home, before continuing.

“If you have a better place to go, a place that could help you, a person, even, or a place you feel is important for you to be, I would recommend you went there. But you have a place here, at the monastery. You would have help here.”

He paused for a moment, perhaps expecting McCree to speak, to reply. McCree didn’t. “If you decide to stay, there is an empty room waiting for you. Anyone can point you towards it. If we see each other tomorrow, well met. If not…” Zenyatta began drifting away, in the direction of the gates to the small town, but before he was too far away, just loud enough that McCree could hear it, he uttered one last sentence.

“I hope you find peace.”

McCree watched the omnic disappear, his words still ringing through his mind.

Did he have anywhere better to go?

Fareeha’s was the first name to appear in his mind. Unlike all the other people he had cared for, she hadn’t had time to become a part of Overwatch, hadn’t had time to get involved in the clusterfuck that was the politics of Blackwatch and Overwatch, hadn’t become poisoned or killed by that whole drama.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t call her up and lay all his problems, all his shortcomings and mistakes and horrible decisions on her shoulders.

Pharah was young and probably in love and talented and so mighty and powerful. She was in the prime of her life. He couldn’t come and ruin it like he always did. She had to be allowed to live her own life.

Ana Amari was dead. Gabriel Reyes was dead. Genji hated him. Everyone he had once known was out of the question to reach out to for help.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t get help.

But the monk was right. He couldn’t stay in the cycle he was in, either.

He had nowhere else to go. Nowhere but the badlands.

And he had spent his share of time there. He had to believe it had been enough.

He had to believe he deserved better.

(He couldn’t believe he deserved better).

But if this monk could help him. If this place could _fix_ him.

McCree picked up his worn old rucksack off the ground, capped the bottle and stuffed it inside, slung the sack onto his shoulders, and began walking.

Toward the gate of the town. Toward the path to the monastery. Toward… something.

He wasn’t entirely sure what, but it was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so again thanks for reading this thing and all the kudos are warming my heart and like if u leave a comment I will love you forever (if you guys have any notes or commentary or theories or hcs abt these dudes I'd love to hear them) anyway! Thanks guys and see you again in a week!


	4. Chapter 4

The monk, Zenyatta, had been right, it had been easy locating his room the night before, the first monk he stumbled upon being more than willing to point him in the right direction.

And now he was here.

The sun was filtering in through the small window on the eastern side of the small room, burning in red patches behind McCree’s eyelids, and it didn’t at all help ease the jackhammer pounding away inside his skull. A bit too much alcohol and a bit too few Z’s, he supposed. Either way, it didn’t seem he was going to go back to sleep any time soon.

Just as well. He supposed it was time to figure out what the hell he was doing here, anyway.

The doubt was starting to set in already, clouding the resoluteness that had set in the previous night, ruining any semblance of resolve. What was he doing, pushing all his problems onto a group of strangers? Staying where he would only be hurting and hindering the person he wanted to put behind him, every day faced with the very thing he would rather forget?

This was a bad idea. This whole thing had been a bad idea. He wished he had never entered this monastery. He wished he had never stepped foot on this mountain. He wished he had never picked up that damn call from Fareeha. He wished…

His frantic runaway thoughts and mechanical gathering of the meager belongings scattered at the foot of his bed mat was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. McCree immediately swiveled around, years of instinct kicking into a single action pinning the intruder against the wooden wall of the small room.

Genji didn’t even fight back, instead opting to simply stare McCree down, calmly, though with that glint of anger that never seemed to leave the man’s eyes.

McCree released him and backed away. “Why are you here?” he asked, voice curt, need to get out postponed for a moment.

Genji turned his back to McCree before throwing over his shoulder, “It is time for our morning meditations. Come.”

He couldn’t tell Genji that he had planned to leave. Had Zenyatta told him all the things he had said the previous night? Did Genji know why he had stayed the night, why the monk thought he would be staying further? Did he know?

If Genji knew all that McCree now was, and then heard him say he would not stay? That he would accept defeat? The Genji he knew would never let that pass without remark, would drink in his failure. The Genji he knew would be cruel.

But of course, this was a different Genji. That had been clear from the moment he arrived.

Either way, he wasn’t leaving now. Not with the imagined challenge from Genji staring him in the face.

He grabbed his hat, then followed the other man out the door, down the winding path between buildings toward the center of the monastery, then further, past the monks doing their morning meditations, further away from the center again, toward the outskirts, toward the cliffs at the other side of the area.

They weren’t meditating with the other monks, then, McCree gathered. He wondered idly for a minute how much Genji and Zenyatta had isolated themselves from the others, whether it was because of Genji, or maybe it was because Zenyatta just didn’t seem to follow tradition.

Either way, they soon reached a small grassy area right before a cliff, where the omnic monk was hovering in a seated position, back to them, waiting.

“Master,” Genji said and bowed, fingers pressed together in greeting.

McCree awkwardly tipped his hat, glancing sideways at Genji for some cue that never came.

Zenyatta turned around, and nodded at them both. “Greetings. Join me.”

At the invitation, Genji immediately strode over to the monk and settled down on the grass on his right side, facing the expanse of the mountains and valleys stretching out before them, back to McCree.

Now left alone, awkward, he didn’t know quite what to do.

Zenyatta gestured to his side, the one not occupied by a meditating Genji, and McCree approached and settled down, grateful for the guidance. He shifted, then shifted again, trying to settle in for what would probably be a long period of quiet.

He couldn’t say he was a fan of quiet.

He looked at the valley below them, trying to still his mind, but it was determined to wander.

The mountains were tall, rising all around them. This place was huge. Fareeha would love it here, being able to fly from peak to peak with her raptora suit, doing dives and spins and all those other stunts she had learned to do since he had last seen her.

He refused to let his mind drift to how he missed her. How he missed Ana. How he missed Gabe. How he missed his family.

McCree shifted, the ground feeling uncomfortable under him, the movement distracting from where his mind was threatening to take him.

Was he supposed to just sit here? He chanced a quick glance over at Genji.

The other man had his eyes closed, so he quickly followed suit. Was this what he was supposed to do? Just be alone, eyes closed, nothing but his thoughts to keep him company? Alone with his thoughts?

He began absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his knee, focusing on the rhythm, then opened his eyes again. Some large bird of prey was chasing a smaller bird across the sky, too far away to make out the specifics of their fight. A sparrow, perhaps? The larger bird would catch up with it soon enough, and it would be done for.

Just like him if Zenyatta found out about his and Genji’s past together.

Or did he already know?

The thought coursed like ice through his veins, the certainty of it hitting him in the face like a shovel.

Of course Zenyatta already knew. He was Genji’s teacher, probably had been for most of the two years they had been apart. Of course he knew what they had been to each other, what they had done to each other.

So why had he kept him here? Why hadn’t he encouraged him to leave?

He shifted again, and in response heard Genji clearing his throat loudly on his right, sounding annoyed.

Right, of course. Quiet time.

Not McCree’s specialty, not when he was like this, not the angry, unbalanced man he now was. Silence, sitting and enjoying the quiet, the sun on his face and wind in his hair might have been his thing before, before everything went bad. It wasn’t anymore. He didn’t think it ever again would be.

He tried to sit entirely still, to not move a muscle, not settle on bad thoughts, not distract, for a few moments more. Then, with a huff, he rose to his feet and made to turn and leave.

A voice from behind put a small pause in his stride, but didn’t stop him.

“You are leaving so soon?” Zenyatta asked.

McCree didn’t respond. He didn’t look back, either, until he was too far away for it to matter. His hands were twitching, his feet were restless, every muscle in his body itching for something to do, something to shoot.

Let them have their meditation, their calm, peacefulness, ease. He could manage. He knew how to manage this.

Before he knew it his feet had led him back to the small room he had woken up in, and Peacemaker was again in its holster at his hip. He made his way out of the monastery, bag still resting on the thin bed mat in the room he had just left, only searching for a reprieve, only a distraction.

Just some way to get all these _fucking_ thoughts out of his head.

Just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? projecting my inability to be alone with my thoughts onto fictional characters? I would never!  
> Anyway thank you guys so much for the kudos and the comments I love you all? Thank you  
> As always if you have any notes or comments or anything I would love to hear them comments are my life's blood your feedback makes me love writing this okay!!!!  
> Next update is in a week, wednesday as usual. So I'll see you all then!


	5. Chapter 5

The fool couldn’t even meditate properly, and now Genji had to go looking for him. He had no idea what intentions Zenyatta had in sending him on this infuriating quest, but he knew better than to question. There was always a reason. And either way, Genji, loathe as he was to admit it, did know Jesse well enough to know where to start looking.

He found him where he thought he would, on the opposite side of the monastery from where they had conducted their morning meditations, the furthest he could get both from Genji and the road away. Peacemaker in hand, scowling at the mountains stretching before him, looking as angry as he had the day before, at their first meeting in two years.

(Their first meeting since that last night, since his last weakness, since he broke his promise to himself before fleeing. Jesse hadn’t looked much different back then. A different sort of anger on his face, maybe, it having seemed to evolve since then. Perhaps Genji’s had as well.)

Jesse still didn’t look at him, didn’t even notice he was there (just like before, just like at Blackwatch, just like every moment together then). Still staring at the horizon, still brandishing Peacemaker.

Genji could feel the unease inside him transform into that vicious anger, as it always did, as it always would. Along with it, that fed up feeling, that exasperation over the lack of control over his emotions, his state of mind, appeared, as it always did, accompanying everything he felt. He was struck again, as he was almost constantly nowadays, with the burning need for it to disappear, to find peace. He needed this to work. He needed whatever Zenyatta was preaching to take hold.

Genji gritted his teeth together and approached. When Jesse still did not react, he cleared his throat. Loudly.

Jesse turned with a start, face open in surprise, before he seemed to recognize the man (was he even a man anymore?) standing before him, and his expression turned guarded.

Genji didn’t want to admit, even to himself, how much that hurt.

“What do you want?”

Genji just stared him down for a moment. He hadn’t bothered, hadn’t wanted, to take in the man before him during their previous two meetings.

Jesse had changed, and yet he was still the man he had left. Genji couldn’t help but to wonder what had happened to the man these past two years, what had led him to seek him out again.

He knew he could have kept up with news about Blackwatch if he had so wished, but information didn’t migrate naturally here, so he hadn’t heard anything since he had stopped listening. Had something happened? Had Jesse left as well?

Did it even matter?

He was here now. As broken down as he had always been, changed, yes, a broken man put together wrong, the pieces kept being rearranged, never quite right.

Genji wanted to wish Jesse would get better here. He wanted to think, “this place will be good for him. He’ll learn, and he’ll be more at peace with himself.”

Was it a sign of his failure that he couldn’t? Was it a sign that he was never going to make it?

Or was it simply that old wounds still bit deep, that they would never heal?

He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to linger on it. What did it matter to him what happened to Jesse? It wasn’t as though they would ever again be invested in each other’s lives (as though they ever were to begin with, as though that had ever been more than a destructive sort of coping. As though they had ever cared).

All of this passed through his head in less than a moment before his mind returned to the question at hand.

“I want nothing from you,” he spat as an answer, before adding, “I am here because Zanyatta requested it. You left. Abruptly. Training is about to start. I am to show you the way.”

Jesse looked angry for just a moment, that new sharpness flitting across his face, but then the mask was back and there was nothing left to see. McCree nodded, and Genji turned on his heel, glad to have the mask out of sight, glad the face he had once known so well was no longer contorted right before his eyes.

They walked in silence, knowing no other way of being now, not without devolving into what they had been at their initial reunion. Not without devolving into the worst of themselves.

The path to the training area wasn’t long, and for this Genji was glad. He didn’t know how much he could take of the silence where there had been words, the emptiness where there had been… not smiles, more glares, but that, he felt, was preferable to whatever this was.

Or maybe the absence of this situation was preferable to either of these things.

Was it truly a bad thing that Jesse was here? Did he truly detest this second chance this much? Why was he pushing everything away?

Because it was discord. Because it was the wall between him and his peace.

He would have to break down the wall.

He couldn’t break down the wall without first facing the wall. He couldn’t break it without first knowing its name.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, all this running through Genji’s brain, before reaching the field on the outskirts of the monastery, outside of the low walls, where Zenyatta had set up targets, balance beams, and all other equipment they would need for training. Genji stopped at the entrance, greeted Zenyatta with the regular greeting, fingers pressed together, head bowed in a quick motion down then up, then he walked over to the equipment.

“What are we doing today, master?” he asked, and Zenyatta hummed.

He didn’t want to pay any mind to Jesse, but he couldn’t help it. The man was standing slightly behind him, to his left, shifting his weight from one foot to the other once every five seconds, being supremely distracting. Genji wanted him to stop.

He didn’t stop.

“Since we have a guest today, it is the perfect day to learn the balance which must exist everywhere. Even,” he added, and if omnic eyes could twinkle, Zenyatta’s eyes would be a starry sky, “balance between yourself and your opponent.”

Genji was no fool, he knew what Zanyatta was doing. Perhaps he even understood it.

That did not mean he had to like it.

“We’ll be sparring, then?” he asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but ultimately failing. Zanyatta nodded.

Well, Genji told himself, Zenyatta would have made him do something with Jesse either way. He could be grateful that the mandated activity was one that allowed him to take out his aggressions on the other man.

He sure had enough of those to get out.

Genji turned around, eyes now facing where Jesse stood, frozen in place, looking like he hadn’t expected this.

“Well now, seems this kinda puts me at an unfair advantage now, don’t it?” Jesse asked, his southern drawl faster than usual, looking apologetic, uncomfortable.

Genji didn’t care.

“Only if you’re as incompetent at this as you were last I faced off against you,” Genji responded, no friendliness in his insult, no smile to take the edge off the comment.

He could see the sudden heat flash in Jesse’s eyes, then a determination took over. Helping the man along had never been Genji’s intention, but if his antagonism toward Jesse was in their lesson’s advantage, that had no drawbacks for him.

He expected no retort, no counter attack. Jesse had never been the kind to lash out in response, opting instead to turn that cold anger into action, into a better chance at beating the opponent.

So how surprised he was to hear Jesse reply.

“Two years ago, darling.” The last word was drawled out in that southern way that meant trouble, and Genji could hear it bite him. “And incompetent wasn’t what you called me when we last faced off.”

Hitting under the belt was a dirty trick, and something Jesse hadn’t resorted to earlier. Genji didn’t know what to do now, with this, with this new Jesse, this new way of being with him.

And the last time they faced off…

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

A few beats passed, Genji’s mind both blank and in overdrive at the same time, and then he turned back to Zanyatta, thinking he was recognizing something within himself, hoping this was a good call, hoping this was what progress was.

“Master,” he said, bowing, “This is not...” his words trailed off into nothing, and Genji struggled to find the words as he looked into the unchanging, unflinching metal mask that was the monk’s face. He finally settled for a plan, not a request. “I will take meditations in my quarters, and will be back by three.” It was phrased as a fact, but they both knew that if Zenyatta thought this unwise, this would not be what Genji did.

A moment later, Zanyatta nodded, and Genji let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

He turned and walked away, brushing past Jesse, careful not to touch him, then made his way back to his sleeping quarters, passing monk after monk, none of them paying him the slightest bit of mind, a ghost even among those who had taken him in.

When he finally found himself in the safety of his own room, with the freedom of whatever emotion he chose, Genji sat down on his pallet bed. After a moment, he changed to a reclining position, his head resting on his thin pillow, eyes focused on the ceiling and breath forcibly steady, silently repeating every mantra and meditation Zenyatta had ever taught him.

The last time they faced off.

Genji was alone now, no one watching him, no one searching for that tiny bit of weakness, no one to see what could always be used against him.

It didn’t matter here now. So he could.

He did.

Genji breathed a deep sigh, then let himself remember that last night, when things had been different, when they had been broken in a multitude of ways, none of them like this.

His eyes closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's stupid late but I made the mistake of listening to Imagine Dragons and that's McCree shit so what can ya do. Anyway. Got some notes this time!
> 
> 1\. Thought I'd given up on this? So did I! Guess we were both wrong. Here are my excuses for not updating in a while:  
> a) NaNoWriMo (which I completed!) kept me busy  
> b) I don't really know how to resolve this fic and I'm making it up as I go along so I got kinda discouraged  
> c) I've been dealing with some mental health shit  
> d) I broke up with the person who originally asked for "something with mcgenji and Zen", the suggestion that became this, so this whole thing has been kinda. Soured, I guess.  
> Anyway this all turns into a nice lil coctail of ehhhh but! I really wanna keep going here and see where this fic leads me, and I hope you guys wanna come along for the ride!
> 
> 2\. Next chapter I'm really excited for, we're going back in time to how Genji remembers The Last Night (I'm saying how genji remembers it, not how it was, cause as you can all probably tell by now, these guys are unreliable narrators At Best) so i'm hoping to have that up sometime soon, like in the next few weeks? I'm also working on my nano novel so I might be a bit slow with updates here, sorry! And I've also got a new fic idea I wanna write for overwatch which is. A bad idea as I have this to write but. What can you do.
> 
> Anyway I should sleep and I hope you enjoyed this, comments absolutely make not only my day but also my entire week, also kudos are great, thank you!!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoyed see ya!


	6. Chapter 6

He stood in front of the door, afraid to knock.

Was he going to say goodbye? Or would he leave without it?

Part of him wanted to just up and leave, let Jesse wonder, let him beat himself up, torture himself, turn himself inside out in search for answers. The other half wanted to say his goodbyes, lay out his anger, hurt the other man one last time.

The smallest part of him was tired. Tired of this dance, of this never ending twisting and turning, this torture, this conflict, turning each other out and in, ripping open old wounds and biting in new ones.

He didn’t want the cycle to continue. He was breaking the cycle, and that might mean breaking the both of them as well.

The hallway was empty, as he knew it would be at this time of night. Reyes was probably already retired to his quarters, as were the rare few who worked this floor, this building housing a division that wasn’t supposed to exist. The coast was clear, and Genji could only stand there, trying to make up his mind, making the harshest attempt at finding the resolve needed to make a decision.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave without warning. He couldn’t leave without one last destructive stab, one last jagged wound inflicted. On himself or Jesse he could not decide, but it would be a wound, and it would fester, and all he wanted was to hurt.

Resolve set, he rapped his knuckles against the ambiguous material of the door three times in quick succession, ignoring, resenting the way the metal of his body glinted in the faint hall light. Then he waited.

It didn’t take long for a faint crash to sound, then soft cursing, almost too low to hear through the wall, before the sound of shuffling feet approached and the door opened.

Jesse was drunk.

Genji didn’t care.

The grin he received as Jesse’s eyes flashed in recognition was dangerous, challenging, and it made him angry, made him want this even more. Genji didn’t resist when Jesse grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, didn’t bat an eye when he was pushed up against a wall, Jesse’s face inches from his, alcohol scenting the air between them.

Jess felt soft, even pressed hard against him, and Genji wanted to close his eyes and let down his guard, wanted to breathe in the smell of the other man, wanted to be soft and tender, wanted that to be the kind of people they were.

He couldn’t. They weren’t.

Heartbeats passed without anything happening, and Genji lost his patience, feeling that fire flare up in him again, burning through him as though he was paper tissue, spreading to Jesse, bringing the instinct to burn, to brand. They couldn’t be the soft people, the tender people, and so they were people who burned, who were destroyed. It was all Genji knew, the only constant. It was all he could believe.

A break free, a step to the side, a violent push, and Jesse hit the wall with a heavy oomph, the air audibly knocked out of him. Genji let him stay there for a moment, collecting his wits again, calming his thoughts, calming the flare.

A deep breath, and then Genji sauntered over to the cupboard where he knew Jesse kept his alcohol. It was always well stocked, he knew, bottle upon bottle, indicating a problem for which Genji didn’t want a solution.

It made this easier.

He pulled out the first bottle his hand made contact with, unscrewed the cork and took a swig, feeling the liquid burn as it made its way down his throat.

The flare calmed, but not enough, and Genji turned back to the man by the wall, the eyes considering him through the darkness.

The room was dark, but Genji could still see what he needed to. The eyes, and below, the flash of teeth through a grin, not menacing, not angry, but playful, now, inviting.

Genji turned away for a moment, taking another swig from the bottle.

He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the cycle, couldn’t stand the grin, couldn’t stand the man staring at him. He needed to destroy it, needed to burn it all down. It was a need greater than any other, and one he wanted so badly to rid himself of.

He understood that the decision he had made was the right one. Leaving was necessary, neither of them could last like this, in whatever this was. Neither of them could last with what they brought out in each other.

He could see it too clearly now, the way Jesse’s grin turned around him, the way his own destructiveness flared around the other man. The way they were fire and ice, hurting, always hurting, giving and taking, destroying each other and themselves.

He could spend countless hours analyzing how they got to be the people they now were, taking into account their upbringings among violence and uncertainty, Genji’s childhood in the yakuza and eventual murder at the hands of his brother, Jesse’s time in the Deadlock Gang as a teenager, how they never should have experienced the things they had at the ages they had, or ever. Hell, he could have spent countless hours talking it out with Jesse, walking each other through minefields of trauma, not fixing each other, but helping, not loving each other to wholeness, but loving each other despite the broken parts.

He didn’t. They hadn’t. The past was gone, and these were the people they had chosen to become. The person Genji had chosen to become. Destructive and angry and burning, always burning, on fire, desperate to spread the hurt around so he wasn’t alone with it.

The cycle had to stop. It had to.

Another swig of the burning liquid, and he could almost meet Jesse’s eyes. In them were the iciness of a man ready to drown, as if Genji was the water and not the flame, the drowning and not the burning.

As though it was Jesse who was about to drown, and not Genji.

A breath was all it took, and Genji was in front of Jesse again, the cowboy grinning even wider, a grin Genji needed gone, needed to wipe from existence. The need was violent, was destructive, and Genji needed to remove, to burn, to destroy.

And yet he stayed completely still, shaking imperceptibly, doing everything he could to keep the rage coiled tight inside himself like a snake, to not let it loose.

Then Jesse leaned forward and claimed him, and he came undone.

Lips on lips, hips against hips, Genji reciprocated, pressing the other man against the wall, keeping him there, keeping control tethered safely within his grasp, not releasing it for the world, until it was taken from him, a violent turn as their positions switched and Jesse was the one in control.

A bite, a push, claw marks and bruises. It didn’t matter who had control, so long as it hurt, so long as they destroyed one another. It didn’t matter who was where, so long as this was where it went.

The night was violent, destructive, the same as it always was, the last step in the cycle before it would be broken. When it was over, two heaps collapsed on a bed, a small note of tenderness in the companionship, in the recovery from the bruises and the hurt, Genji was almost reluctant to leave.

Only almost.

Careful not to disturb the shape beside him, Genji rose from the bed, his metallic joints silent, his sigh the only sound.

Jesse looked nothing like he had, lying here, asleep. Nothing like the icy cold, angry, resentful man Genji knew.

He looked like someone Genji could grow to…

He didn’t finish the thought. It wasn’t a thought that deserved finishing. What ifs and perhapses had no place in this world, in this life they led. There was no use.

Genji made certain not to make a sound as he left, closing the door gently, the exit calm and collected, no note left behind, no sign that he was ever there. Perhaps if he left no trace he had ever been there, the others would forget he had existed at all. Perhaps the hurt that had been caused could be forgotten. Perhaps he could manage on his own.

Hope was not something he set his faith in, uncertain and false.

But he could intend. He could intend for this to be forgotten.

He left Blackwatch that night, everything he owned in a bag on his shoulder, everyone he left behind better off.

Not hoping for a better future, but leaving a past going nowhere.

As they slept, he traveled, and when they woke, he was nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so uh. I'm so fuckin cruel to them and yes, I hate me too. Anyway hopefully this gave more of an insight into how they were before, and why they so desperately need to work on themselves and heal, and why Genji left. I'm still holding fast on that neither of them were balanced people during their Blackwatch days, cause heya, can anyone say growing up amidst tons of violence and uncertainty and fear? And then bein recruited into a shady black ops government organisation?  
> Anyway, I know updates aren't as regular now, apparently I can only write this fic at 4am? But I'm still working on it! Mostly when procrastinating my novels but anyway.  
> I've got a tumblr if anyone has any like. Things they wanna see here or questions they don't wanna ask publicly or whatever Idk man or if u just wanna hang out with me it's rebellioushawke.tumblr.com  
> As usual, kudos and comments lift my spirit to the heavens and if u leave that I'll love you forever, if you've ever commented on something I probably know your comments and username by heart and remember them fondly ANYWAY it's 4am so I'mma stop. Thanks for reading and hopefully I'll get the next chapter up in a few weeks' time!


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